


Still Waters Run Deep

by adamwhatareyouevendoing



Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: F/F, Past Relationship(s), Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Present Relations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:01:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29313747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adamwhatareyouevendoing/pseuds/adamwhatareyouevendoing
Summary: As certain as the wave wrecks upon the shore, Florence and Camille come to find each other again.
Relationships: Camille Bordey/Florence Cassell
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	Still Waters Run Deep

**Author's Note:**

> They hugged and held hands and I'm fine about it, thank you. Totally calm.

As certain as the wave wrecks upon the shore, they come to find each other again.

Florence is almost exactly as Camille remembers—bright, beautiful, remarkable. Familiar, like everything else here, an aching undercurrent of all she left behind. She wastes no time in pressing Camille against the bedroom door, the perfect arch of her body straining to meet Camille’s touch, her fingers wound in Camille’s hair and Camille’s lonely lips following the curve of her neck.

She wears a gold chain at the base of her throat with an initial that is not her own and a restless energy to match Camille’s. There is something eager and fierce in her caress, now—the kind of love that is only ever born of loss.

“Please,” Florence breathes, eyes shining in the soft dark. Her hands find their anchor at Camille’s hips, as though it will be enough to make her stay, this time.

They both know she cannot promise anything more than tonight.

Camille reaches up to cup her cheek softly, briefly, then uses Florence’s hold to her own advantage, flipping their positions with their bodies pressed close, leaving them both breathless, lips mere inches apart and aching with anticipation until they can hold back no longer and then there is nothing before them or behind them but this.

Florence is warm with the spice of rum and rich notes of sandalwood, her lips soft and voice rough with desire, as desperate as Camille is to feel skin against skin. Her dress pushes easily down to her waist, the fabric pooling at her hips and leaving her exposed to Camille’s hungry gaze, one perfect budded nipple rolled between gentle fingers.

“Magnifique,” Camille murmurs, the faint sigh of her name drifting across their skin like the warm summer breeze over sea and shore. Florence arches into her touch with a wordless plea, seeking the flick of her thumb and the drag of her palm, the soft wet slide of her lips down the column of her throat, her breathless moan of triumph and satisfaction as she bends to tease the other nipple with her tongue.

Florence’s dress falls to the floor with little resistance and Camille needs no encouragement to follow its path down her body. She sinks easily to her knees, pulling Florence’s underwear down in the same smooth motion. Florence lets out a small, shaking breath of understanding, her fingers catching in Camille’s hair as she urges her forwards, legs falling open in eager invitation.

She’s already wet, spreading easily with a few lazy flicks of Camille’s tongue before she leans in and buries herself inside her clenching heat. Florence’s hips grind down on her, wild with involuntary pleasure, and Camille indulges her for a few delightful moments before she withdraws to purse her lips tightly against her clit in light admonishment.

“Bed,” Florence gasps, her trembling thighs clenching around Camille’s face with a fervent mix of tension and pleasure. “I want you, Camille, please.”

It’s been too long to deny such an enticing request. Even the few paces to the bed feels too far with Florence’s hand still warm in hers and the taste of her on her tongue. She’d be content simply to press Florence down into the mattress and take her again, braced between her hips until she comes apart beneath her.

Florence, of course, has her own ideas. Every time they had sex, this thing that bloomed between them could always give rise to something new, even as the thrill of learning each other’s bodies built slowly into familiarity. Camille’s top joins her dress over the floorboards, the shuttered sunset casting long stripes across their bodies as Florence presses close to claim her lips once more. Her fingers stroke lightly over Camille’s collarbone, her bra, her navel, and Camille swiftly loses all thoughts of waiting, of teasing, of denying herself for the sake of making leaving easier.

Florence’s fingers make quick work of her jeans, sliding open button and zipper as she sinks to the bed to guide them over her hips. “Should’ve worn a dress,” she remarks with quiet humour at the slow shift of fabric down Camille’s thighs.

“I didn’t plan ahead, did I?” Camille says, returning her smile as she helps to pull them from her ankles. “I wasn’t sure you’d be back.” Her smile falters. “I wasn’t sure you’d want me even if you were.”

“Then you were wrong,” Florence says, settling herself against the pillows, radiant in her nudity. There is no judgement in her tone, and maybe she’s too forgiving of Camille for her absence, or perhaps it stands to reason that the last person to forgive her would be herself. If Florence still has faith in her, and, even more miraculously, still wants her, Camille is determined to prove that she’s right.

She guides Florence to kneel on the bed before her, one thigh between her own, curving a hand over the dip and swell of her waist and hip before returning her fingers to the slick heat between Florence’s legs. Florence, as ever, meets her with swift understanding, echoing Camille’s touch on her body. They gasp as one, Florence’s breath warm against her neck as she follows the pace that Camille sets, drawing each other into shared pleasure with long, slow strokes.

Camille falters in her rhythm as the waves of her orgasm begin to wash over her, slowly at first, then breaking in a rush as Florence’s fingers continue to circle ceaselessly over her clit, the familiar sound of Florence’s name on her lips as she comes.

Florence returns her kiss without urgency while she recovers herself, desperate tears of relief threatening to spill down her cheeks even as she screws her eyes shut to prevent it. She’s cried more in these last few days than in the past years combined, it seems. Florence kisses her with understanding, with care, with love. With a desire that still trembles through her body and leaves her breathless with determination to give her the same pleasure.

“Turn around for me,” Camille says, her voice too wrecked to sound entirely as a command, but Florence obeys readily, allowing Camille to kneel between her legs, fingers circling her wrists and pulling them over her head. “Can I trust you to stay where I put you?” Camille asks, low. “Or do I need to restrain you?”

Florence sits up straighter, back arching against her chest as she clasps her hands behind Camille’s head. Her arms tremble as Camille lets go of her wrists, but her hold does not break. She stays, even as Camille nudges her legs further apart, her hand drifting from Florence’s thigh, spread and at her mercy.

“That’s my girl,” Camille says, breath washing hot over Florence’s skin as she shudders in anticipation, rewarding her with a light stroke of two fingers over her clit before she presses fully inside. Her other hand palms her breast, twisting her nipple in time with the thrust of her fingers.

Florence’s chest heaves with shallow breath, every gasp and moan sweet in Camille’s ear as she winds her tighter and tighter, their bodies rolling with the rhythm of her fingers, the heel of her palm rubbing against Florence’s clit until she surrenders to the pressure and comes apart with a cry. Her arms finally give way as Camille fucks her through it, fingers still buried in her as Florence falls to the pillows.

Camille follows her down in a tangle of limbs, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, her temple, her cheek, until Florence’s breathing calms and she settles comfortably in Camille’s arms.

“I told you I was happy to see you,” Florence says with a smile that Camille can’t resist kissing off her lips in agreement.

“And I you, bien-aimée.”


End file.
